


Sweet

by brinnanza



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: McKay makes a noise like he’s found a hundred ZPMs, discovered the secret to grand unified theory, and solved every millennium problem at the same time, and then he says, “Oh my god, Sheppard, you havegotto try this cake” and shoves his fork into Sheppard’s mouth.





	Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt from [this list](http://brinnanza.tumblr.com/post/130839577231/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the), sharing a dessert.

McKay makes a noise like he’s found a hundred ZPMs, discovered the secret to grand unified theory, and solved every millennium problem at the same time, and then he says, “Oh my god, Sheppard, you have _got_ to try this cake” and shoves his fork into Sheppard’s mouth.

The cake is, actually, very good. It’s maybe not quite as orgasmic as McKay is making it sound, but then again, Sheppard doesn’t have McKay’s “special relationship” with chocolate. He could, however, go for another bite, so he grabs another fork. McKay grabs his wrist halfway to the plate with a murderous glare and Sheppard half expects him to swing his arm around the plate to guard it with his body. 

“I said ‘try’! Get your own!” McKay snaps. Sheppard quirks an eyebrow at him because seriously, it’s _cake_ and there’s more; the not-quite-cocoa beans grow on Imdali like a weed. McKay narrows his eyes, because apparently Sheppard saving his life on a near-weekly basis doesn’t merit _food sharing_ , but he then he relents. “Fine,” he says, letting go of Sheppard’s wrist. “But you have to go get another piece after.”

“Yeah yeah,” Sheppard agrees, and he snags another bite of the cake.

McKay is back to mostly tuning Sheppard out, blissed out on sugar and caffeine. Sheppard considers indulging in a little bit of fork fencing, but he’s pretty sure McKay will actually stab him if he gets between McKay and what is clearly some kind of dessert-related religious experience. He lets McKay have the last bite and gets up to grab another piece of cake.

When he gets back, McKay is giving the empty plate a considering look like he’s thinking of licking it clean, so Sheppard shoves the new piece in front of him.

“We have to get some of these beans,” McKay says around a mouthful of cake. He’s practically squirming with delight. “They’re on the trade list, right? Give ‘em whatever they want -- medical supplies, clothes, C4, whatever they want.” 

“We’re not giving them C4, Rodney,” Sheppard says, taking another bite. 

“Whatever they want,” McKay repeats. His voice has taken on a dreamy quality. Sheppard had thought McKay’s addiction to coffee was bad, but apparently Imdali not-quite-chocolate is like cocaine, black tar heroin, and ecstasy all rolled into one. “I’d sell out my own mother for this cake, okay.”

Given what Sheppard knows of McKay’s family, that doesn’t seem like a particular hardship.

“I’d sell my body for this cake. I’d sell _your_ body for this cake,” McKay continues.

“Thanks, McKay,” Sheppard puts in dryly.

“Whatever, Sheppard, you’re giving it up for free anyway.”

“I thought we agreed no more Kirk jokes.”

“Did I say Kirk?”

“You didn’t have to _say it_ Rodney, I know what you mean.”

“I don’t think you understand _how good_ this cake is.”

“I get it, the cake is amazing, it makes doves cry, it could probably cure cancer,” Sheppard says, and then he does poke at Rodney’s fork with his own because even if he _was_ “giving it up for free” (which he’s not), it’s none of McKay’s damn business. McKay tries to bat him away with his free hand but Sheppard is faster, so McKay throws an elbow. Sheppard shoves back and somewhere in the ensuing struggle, the cake gets tipped off of the table and onto the ground.

They both freeze and stare at the upturned plate.

“I may never forgive you,” McKay says faintly, but he’s kidding. Mostly. Probably.

“There’s more cake, McKay, Jesus,” says Sheppard. He disentangles himself from the leg McKay’s got hooked around his knees for leverage and gets up to get another piece.

“But it’s such a _waste_ ,” McKay calls after him mournfully.

Sheppard is pretty sure he doesn’t have to remind McKay of all people not to eat cake off of the _ground_ because he bitches enough about the cleanliness of the cutlery on Atlantis, and they have industrial dishwashers there, but McKay is looking at the lost cake like it’s a shattered ZPM.

“There is _more cake_ ,” Sheppard repeats. 

McKay looks at him. “For your sake, there had _better be_.”

Fortunately, there’s more cake.


End file.
